A Bouquet of Roses
by aliciajay
Summary: Stupid France and his stupid kisses. France x Fem!England, oneshot.


HIHIHI! :D This is my first oneshot and also my first ever completed story (I know I have commitment problems) so please be nice! It's Fem!England x France I know you all love it! Enjoy!

* * *

England wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting in her chair, clicking through one television channel after another, and then doing it all over again when she was done. It was boring and infuriating at the same time – for instance, how did America manage to get himself into every single television show known to the world? He was so popular – too popular. It wasn't fair. Why didn't people appreciate England more?

Also Ireland, Scotland and Wales were just great at being pricks. Thank goodness they were out for the day, but that also meant she was home by herself.

She felt very much alone then, wondering if anything good would ever happen to her sometime this century.

The doorbell rang, and she sighed, going over to the door and opening it.

There stood France in the doorway, blocking out the sunlight.

"Bonjour, Angleterre!"

She stared at him, squinting in the bright light streaming into the room. Then as her eyes adjusted to the brightness she saw what he was holding in his hands.

A bouquet of roses.

England backed away quickly, her heart pounding. "What are you doing here, you frog!?" She tried to push the door closed but was stopped by a strong hand. France smiled winningly from the other side.

"Your brothers are not home, I trust?"

"N-no," she said before realizing that might not have been the best thing to say under the circumstances.

France's smile grew wider. "Bon."

Oh no, oh no, this was not a good sign…

"Because, ma chèrie, I am here to profess my love to you."

W-whoa there.

England stared at him in complete, utter shock. What - why this sudden display of affection? He couldn't be serious. He couldn't possibly be telling the truth - this was _France, _after all. This must be part of some evil wicked scheme of his or something...

And then he dropped the roses, pulled her forward and kissed her.

For roughly a moment she stood frozen in complete shock, unwittingly allowing his lips to roam over hers, before regaining her senses and pushing him away with all the force she could muster.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL, FRANCE!?"

Despite herself a vibrant blush rose to her cheeks. This was absolutely uncalled for - since when -

France, naturally, still looked as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Have I told you yet how beautiful you are when you blush, ma chèrie?"

"Get out right now," she snapped with finality, and proceeded to shove him out the door. "I don't know why you came here with your stupid fake wooing attempt, or why you - you -"

"Gave you that kiss, you mean?" France grinned. "I take it that you liked it?"

She felt her face heating up again.

"Get OUT!"

That was when England realized that since he was already outside, all she had to do was shut the door in his face - instead of still standing there in front of him, her hands on his chest and with him rather close, _way _too close for her liking. Oh God, oh God. This was not good. If anyone happened to pass by they would think she and France were - were _lovers, _or something else equally horrible, when instead they were supposed to be goddamned RIVALS!

She didn't feel like admitting to herself that this might actually be more pleasant than arguing and bickering for days on end.

Apparently France had noticed too - because suddenly he'd reached out and grabbed her hands, stopping her from breaking free – which she had just been getting around to, of course.

"L-let go of me, you frog!" She flailed wildly (which was no use) and stamped on his foot (which only made him flinch). He still didn't let go.

"You are so cute, ma chèrie," crooned France, and it was her turn to flinch as he leaned even closer to her. "I really do wish I could stay, but I'm afraid I can't. Will you accept a parting gift?"

England didn't even get a chance to answer before he immediately closed the distance between them, his lips on hers again. It was a harder kiss this time, with an almost unchecked passion. She felt him release her hands to grab her shoulders and pull her closer, but somehow she couldn't push him away because for some reason his lips felt so soft and so perfect against hers, and the way he kissed her, so soft and tantalizing, made her heart race so erratically –

And then France was pulling away with a mischievous smile, watching her blush madly out of all proportion before releasing his hold on her at last. She stared at him, trying to ignore the fact that her lips were tingling, and that the kiss had felt so good.

"You looked so lonely I just had to!" he said cheerfully over his shoulder as he walked away whistling. "And thank you for kissing me back!"

England's eyes widened in horror as her face turned volcano-red.

"I HATE YOU FRANCE!" she screamed after his retreating figure.

"I know, I love you too!" he called back. England wished she could throw something at him - preferably a large boulder or two - but there were none within reach, and by the time she looked up again he'd already gone. She stomped up the steps again, desperately trying to calm the racing of her heart and forget about what had just happened between them. There was no way she was going to let France get to her, oh no sir! She was _England_, for crying out loud, and she was not backing down!

She raced inside and shut the door quickly, in case he decided to come back, and leaned wearily against the bolt, ending up sitting on the ground with her back against the door while she tried her hardest to make sense of it all.

There was the bouquet of roses, right next to her. She picked it up and looked at it, her face still hot. Of course there was the card inside, with none other than an "I love you" written inside. England had no idea why it made her heart speed up just by reading it.

It was not true. It was not.

And then, quite without thinking about it, she lifted the roses to her face and breathed - until she realized what she was doing. Then she angrily threw the roses as far as she could, watching as the bouquet landed in the nearest trash can. She closed her eyes and took several deep, calming breaths, willing herself not to hyperventilate.

Stupid France and his stupid kisses.

* * *

A/N: REVIEW! :D


End file.
